Broken Legacy: A Snake in the Lion's Den
by ForeverSirius77
Summary: Slytherin. His legacy is in Slytherin. It is the House his family expects, after all. There was simply no other option for one of his blood. But is that really the truth? Is it possible for there to be a lion in the midst of snakes? Full summary inside.


_Disclaimer__: Anything you recognise does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did. Instead, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. I'm just playing in her world for the time being. However, anything you do not recognise does belong to me. The Sorting Hat's song, for instance, is entirely mine except for the last two lines, which come from_ Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone _by J. K. Rowling, in the chapter titled, "The Sorting Hat," though the words of one of the lines have been changed_ very _slightly._

_Summary__: Slytherin House. It is where his legacy is; his family has always been in the serpentine House, save for an occasional Ravenclaw. He grew up learning about Salazar Slytherin and seeing the green and silver colours of one of Hogwarts' Founders. There was simply no other option for one of his blood. But is that really the truth? Is it possible for there to be a lion in the midst of snakes? _

_Author's __Note__: This brief one-shot turned out to be a great deal more difficult than I originally thought it would be. I kept going back and forth debating how I wanted to portray the character, and such arguments that raged in my head were a nightmare. Although, I finally decided on something, and this piece is written as a response to Mrs.Radcliffe's "The Sorting of …" challenge on the HPFF forums. The title also turned out to be a great deal of trouble; I had absolutely NO IDEA what to call this fic, but with help from fellow users, a decision was reached. So, a big "Thanks" goes out __**the evenstar**__ and __**fg weasley**__ of MNFF for the title. And now, I present for your enjoyment,_ Broken Legacy: A Snake in the Lion's Den.

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**Broken Legacy: A Snake in the Lion's Den**

**By ForeverSirius77**

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_"Whatever we anticipate seldom occurs; what we least expected generally happens."  
--Benjamin Disraeli_

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_Tick … Tick … Tick … Tick_

The large clock that stood near the doorway to the room continued its annoying, monotonous ticking, the minute hand moving ever so slowly from saying it was a quarter after seven, to eighteen past, to twenty-two past, and the woman still hadn't returned. All forty or so eleven year olds had arrived shortly after seven in the evening and were brought immediately to this room, where they had been greeted by a tall, black-haired woman who'd introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor House. Upon giving her name, she had then proceeded to tell the new First Years about the four Houses before saying that she would return soon to bring them into the Great Hall.

It had been almost twenty minutes, and she still had not returned. And the students were getting restless, especially a tall, black-haired boy standing near the doorway, glaring at the clock like he wanted it to do nothing more than explode.

_Tick … Tick … Tick_

_And if I have to hear it much longer, the stupid thing_ will _explode,_ he thought, his right hand grasping the cool, ebony wood of his wand in his robe pocket. The incantations of several curses floated through his mind, each darker and more violent than the previous one, but his thoughts were soon interrupted by the doors opening.

"Follow me," said Professor McGonagall, before turning around and leading the students out of the room.

_You're lucky, Clock,_ the boy thought, sparing a last glance at the object as he joined the back of the group, pushing some rebellious strands of his hair from his face. The boy's black hair was always getting in his face, and his mother was constantly telling him to brush it back. _"It is not respectable, Sirius,"_ she would say upon seeing the strands in front of his eyes, before pulling them back and retying his hair. _"No one will be able to see your face if that hair's in the way,"_ his mother would murmur to herself.

The boy's appearance was exactly like his father's – elegant black hair that never seemed to be what would be considered 'messy', steel coloured eyes that had the capability to unnerve just about anyone if pierced with them long enough, and a posture that was fit for nobility. His skin was pale, yet could in no way be considered 'sickly,' and his features had the "chiselled look of a Greek or Roman statue" … At least, according to his Great Aunt Cassiopeia, who would say the same thing about his brother, except add the fact that Regulus "looked far much more like an angel than Sirius," who shared the strong structure of his father, while Regulus took after Mrs Black.

After walking for barely a minute, the group of First Years entered through another set of doors and into the large Great Hall of Hogwarts School. Five tables stood in the room – four standing vertically on the main floor that were filled with numerous other students ranging in ages from twelve to seventeen and one horizontal table at the front of hall, its seats filled with the older witches and wizards that made up the prestigious school's faculty. The Hall's ceiling looked like it opened up to show the night sky – stars twinkling merrily in the cloak-like blackness of the atmosphere – and hundreds of off-white candles floated above the tables to provide light.

Most of the other First Years had their eyes scanning the Hall, their mouths hung open in awe, and breathing gasps of shock or excitement. _You would think they had never seen magic before,_ the boy thought, catching sight of a blonde-haired girl whose eyes were moving so fast around the Hall that it seemed impossible she could see anything as more than a brief blur. Her mouth hung open, and for a moment, Sirius wondered whether she was even still breathing, or if she had temporarily forgotten that bodily function in the grandness of the room. _Definitely a Hufflepuff, that one,_ he thought, sparing a lazy, half glance at the table to his right.

Sirius, on the other hand, had no reason to stare in awe at any of the things in the Great Hall. Magic was nothing new to the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and neither was Hogwarts or its Sorting. All of his cousins had attended the school in the recent years, and while neither his mother nor father had told him _exactly_ how the students were placed in their Houses, Andromeda and Narcissa had shared that knowledge.

_"There's this old hat that once belonged to Godric Gryffindor," said Andromeda, her gaze focussed on an eight-year-old Sirius as the Black children sat in the library of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. They had abandoned their pursuit of reading after Sirius and Regulus's teacher had left for the afternoon, and turned to more interesting conversation._

_"It's a horrible, dirty, and patched thing," proclaimed Narcissa, glaring at her fifteen-year-old sister with a look that clearly wondered how she could have forgotten such an important detail. "Professor McGonagall makes you put it on –"_

_"You have to put a filthy hat on your head?" The question came from the little boy sitting the furthest apart from the others, and Sirius, Andromeda, and Narcissa turned to look at a seven-year-old Regulus, who was still clutching the book he'd removed from the shelves almost an hour earlier. "Why don't they just have it cleaned first?"_

_"Quiet, Regulus," hissed Sirius. He pierced his brother with a look that clearly told the younger to shut his mouth immediately. "I want to know more."_

_Andromeda continued in a calm voice, as if trying to stop an argument before it began; the two Black brothers_ were _well-known for the disagreements they could get into. "The Sorting Hat isn't_ really _dirty," she said. "It just looks that way. Anyway, you put it on, and then it sort of … talks to you, inside your head, I guess –"_

_"The Hat talks to you?" Sirius stared at his older cousin, a part of him wondering if she was telling the truth – or if she had gone mad. "A talking hat is what Sorts you into a House?" It was one of the oddest things the child had ever heard of; even with magic, such a thing didn't make a great deal of sense, in his opinion. And he_ was _eight years old. He knew what he was talking about._

_"I think it was bewitched," said Narcissa, "back during the time of the Four Founders. That way it knows things about all of the Houses, and it can tell where you'll be better suited."_

And so, when Sirius caught sight of the three-legged stool at the front of the hall, atop which sat a patched and very worn hat, he knew precisely what to expect. He saw the hat's brim open in the manner of a mouth and begin to sing. Only a few phrases, however, made it into Sirius's mind, as the young boy had tuned out the Sorting Hat for the most part.

_Ravenclaw like intelligence;  
She values knowledge the most.  
Books and cleverness hold places of honour,  
About these things, Ravenclaws boast._

_Hufflepuff plays fairly;  
Hard work and loyalty are held in high esteem.  
Together, they understand the importance  
Of working as a team._

_Slytherins –_

Sirius really tuned out the bit of the song focussed on describing the glorious qualities of Slytherin House. He'd heard them all for years – from his mother, his father, his Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella. Not to mention Bellatrix, who had recently finished school, and Narcissa, who was currently in her sixth year and in the House of the Serpent. No matter what the Sorting Hat had to say concerning Slytherin, Sirius was positive that he knew more about it. He could probably tell the Hat a thing or two, he figured.

_Bravery and courage  
Find a home in Gryffindor.  
In these students, one can find  
That chivalry is at their heart's core._

_And now you know the Houses,  
All four of them, you see.  
Now just try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be._

The sound of applause echoed around the Great Hall when the Sorting Hat had finally finished its song. When it had died down, Sirius watched Professor McGonagall remove a parchment scroll from her robe and hold it out in front of her.

"I will call you up here in alphabetical order, and when you hear your name, come up, sit on the stool, and place the Sorting Hat on your head. Once your House is announced, please go join your fellow members at the House table.

"Adams, Carrie."

Sirius saw a short, brown-haired girl stroll confidently towards McGonagall and sit on the stool. It was apparent by her attitude that she, at least, was familiar with magic and Hogwarts – unlike the same blonde-haired girl that Sirius had noticed before, whose name turned out to be "Anderson, Sasha."

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat proclaimed to the Hall, and Sirius smirked as Sasha hurried to the cheering table to Sirius's right. Yes, he knew what he was talking about.

There were a lot of students with surnames that began with an "A," or so it seemed to Sirius, who never thought that he would have to wait too long with a last name of "Black." It was the second letter of the alphabet, after all. How long could it take to reach the B's?

He took the time, though, to let his gaze wander over towards the table on the far left of the Great Hall, over which hung a giant green banner that was embroidered with a shimmering silver serpent. He recognised several of the people sitting at the table – all students older than him, of course, but ones that he'd met and seen over numerous holidays at his parents' parties and other gatherings. There was Rosier and Avery near the front of the table, and on the opposite end was Rabastan Lestrange and the blunt-featured Yaxley, both Seventh-Year Slytherins. His own eyes met up, however, with a girl that sat near the centre of the long table, her long, blonde hair running smoothly down her back. Narcissa Black returned her cousin's stare, giving him a slight smile as the next name sounded throughout the Hall.

"Black, Sirius."

Sirius immediately tore his attention from his cousin and started making his way through the gathered group of students. He did not, however, hurry or push the others out of his way to get to the Sorting Hat faster. Such actions were beneath the heir of one of Wizarding Britain's oldest and purest families. When he made it to the front of the Hall and had reached the stool, he picked up the Sorting Hat and, taking a seat, placed it on his head. The Hat was so large that it had soon obstructed his eyes, plunging him into darkness.

"Oh, another Black," whispered a voice in his head, and although Sirius had expected it, the voice still surprised him a bit. "You'll be the fourth Black in the past decade … A history of Slytherin House in your family, I see."

_Yeah, so why don't you just put me in Slytherin and move on to the next one?_ Sirius thought, a small part of him still thinking (no matter what Andromeda or Narcissa had said about it being magical) that it seemed very idiotic to be talking to a hat.

"I could do that," said the Hat. "Oh yes … But you don't really want to be in Slytherin, do you?"

_What do you mean?_ asked Sirius. _Of course Slytherin is good. My family said that Slytherin is the best … Except Andromeda, she said all of the Houses were all right …_

"Yes, I remember your cousin … She was a difficult decision, I recall. A Ravenclaw, she was – Very intelligent girl – but the Slytherin in her was very strong … You, on the other hand … Why, you are an interesting one indeed. Now that I look closer, it's clear. I haven't seen a Black like you in a very long time indeed, oh no …"

_Er, what's that supposed to mean?_ Sirius's thoughts were becoming more anxious at the Hat's maintained silence, broken only by the occasional "Hmm" and "That's interesting". All during the journey on the train, the trip in the boats, the waiting in the room with the annoying clock, he had never felt nervous at his Sorting. It was assured, right, that he would be put in Slytherin? Such a result was all his parents and other family members talked about; there was never a question of where he might be Sorted. He was a Black, wasn't he? The Hat must be stupid …

"Well, you definitely have the pride and ambition that Slytherin House cherishes –"

_All right, pride and ambition go to Slytherin,_ Sirius thought. _So say "Slytherin" and –_

"Well, you are an impatient child, aren't you?" muttered the Hat, interrupting Sirius's own thoughts. "If you would have let me finish, I was going to say that, while you _do_ have great ambition, your loyalty is another thing –"

_You are NOT putting me in Hufflepuff!_ Sirius exclaimed, vowing then and there that if the idiotic, magical Hat dared to try and place him in Hufflepuff, he would set it on fire immediately … right after removing it from his own head, of course. Sirius was, after all, still upset from the clock that he hadn't been able to destroy for its ticking.

But unfortunately for him (and fortunately for the Sorting Hat), Helga's House wasn't in Sirius's future.

"Hufflepuff? No, no, you're not a Hufflepuff … Your loyalty lies more with courage and bravery, which would make you a perfect fit for –"

_Gryffindor?_ The name of the House sounded foreign even in Sirius's thoughts. He couldn't imagine what it would sound like if he uttered it aloud. But he wouldn't _have_ to say it aloud. There was simply no way he would be a Gryffindor. _Have you forgotten the fact that I'm a Black?_ Sirius asked the Hat. _Blacks are Slytherins, end of story._

"Ah, but you're not like the rest of your family in Slytherin, are you?"

Sirius had to admit – begrudgingly – that the Sorting Hat _did_ speak a bit of truth. He had never been as enthusiastic about Slytherin House as his parents or Bella were. He had always thought Andromeda was right, and that all of the Houses were all right – Except Hufflepuff, which really wouldn't have been the place for a Black. But Blacks were simply _expected_ to go into Slytherin House. Even a Ravenclaw was rare, but a _Gryffindor_? For as long as Sirius could remember, there had _never_ been a Black in Gryffindor. It just didn't occur … And he wasn't _that_ different from his family.

Was he?

No, no he was not, and he would just tell the stupid hat – for a magical hat with the thoughts of Founders, it really wasn't very bright – his answer. Sirius Black in Gryffindor? It wasn't a possibility.

_Either put me in Slytherin or Ravenclaw,_ he thought. _I can't be a Gryffindor; there's never been a Black in Gryffindor before, and I'm not so different from my family as to be the first._

"I'm sorry, but there are qualities in you that I cannot ignore," said the Sorting Hat. "The loyalty and courage within you is far too strong to overlook … You're not a Slytherin, you're not a Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw isn't right, either, but you are perfect for –

GRYFFINDOR!"

Sirius heard the final word echoing around the Great Hall, punctuated only by the scattered applause that arose from the table on the far right side of the room. He felt slightly numb, dazed, completely unlike himself as he removed the Hat and replaced it on the stool, where it could Sort the next poor soul into the wrong House. Or maybe the Sorting was just wrong in Sirius's case? Yes, that was it, he decided. After all, that blonde-haired girl _had_ ended up in Hufflepuff, so that just went to prove that the Sorting Hat was capable of making the right decision. But with himself, Sirius _knew_ that the stupid Hat had been idiotic.

His feet carried the eleven-year-old boy the numerous steps required to make it to the Gryffindor House table. As he sat down on the end, Sirius didn't meet any of the eyes of his fellow Housemates, not quite sure how they would take to the fact that a Black had been Sorted into their House. He couldn't even bring himself to look up and across the Hall at his cousin. _What would Cissy be thinking now?_ Sirius thought.

She would probably be thinking the same thing he was – That someone needed to replace the Sorting Hat because it obviously wasn't performing to perfect standards. If it really had been in use since the time of the Founders, which was over a millennium in the past, then it was about time someone looked at it. Even the most powerful of enchantments wore down _eventually,_ Sirius knew. Perhaps after 1000 years, the power of the Sorting Hat was failing. _After all, what_ other _reason would it put a Black in_ Gryffindor?

_"I haven't seen a Black like you in a very long time indeed …"_ the Hat had said. Well, it still hadn't explained that thought properly, in Sirius's opinion. He had told the tattered thing that he wasn't that different from his family, and it _still_ did not listen. _"The loyalty and courage within you is far too strong to overlook …"_ And loyalty and courage were all great, yes, but not when they put him in perhaps the _one_ House at Hogwarts that he didn't belong (because in his opinion, Hufflepuff didn't quite enter into the equation of _possible_ Houses for a Black). But then again, Gryffindor hadn't really been a possibility either … Or, perhaps it hadn't been a _probable_ placement for a Black? Possible, yes, (however slim), but not probable.

He was quickly starting to get a headache because of the stupid Hat's decision and the thoughts that sprang from it. There was a steady throbbing feeling beginning above his eyes, and he could feel the pain starting to increase as the Sorting went on and on. Student after student walked towards the Hat, leaving soon after to join their fellow Housemates at their table.

Sirius didn't pay any attention when a redheaded girl whose name he'd caught to be "Something Evans" joined the Gryffindor table and sat across from him. Nor did he make a motion when two other First Years joined Hufflepuff, followed by a Ravenclaw, three Slytherins, and then another two Ravenclaws. Another Gryffindor joined his table after that – a Remus Lupin, who took the seat next to the Evans girl. The group of remaining First Years grew smaller and smaller as another joined Slytherin House, then another Hufflepuff, followed by a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor, who once again sat on the side of the table across from the depressed Black heir.

It wasn't until a "Pettigrew, Peter" and a "Potter, James" joined Gryffindor House that the seats next to Sirius became filled. Potter – a scrawny kid with black hair that stuck up in all directions on his head – shoved the other boy, Pettigrew, a little further down so he could apparently take the seat right next to Sirius. The heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black didn't have the slightest idea why Potter was actually making an effort to sit next to him, but at the same time, the pain in his head was increasing to a point that he didn't really feel like questioning the other boy's motives. Although, no amount of head pain would keep Sirius from getting revenge on the black-haired boy if he tried anything that wasn't quite … dignified, he supposed was a good way to put it.

"You're Sirius Black, right?"

The words barely registered in Sirius's mind at first, and he thought that he might have stared blankly at Potter for almost a full minute before his mind caught up with everything.

"Yeah," he said hesitantly, though there was an edge of defiance lacing itself onto his tone. He wasn't up to dealing with ignorance right now – not that he ever had a great deal of patience, but now, after that obnoxious excuse for a Sorting, was definitely not the time. "Why?"

"It's just I think you were the only student who looked ready to set the Hat on fire after it said the House," answered Potter. "I think even McGonagall had her wand ready to put out flames as she watched you leave."

"Why were you upset with Gryffindor?" Everyone turned to glance at the red-haired girl who'd asked the question. She met all of their gazes as she continued. "It's a valid question," she said. "Gryffindor's a great House –"

"Not if you're a Black," said Sirius. "No one in my family has ever been in Gryffindor –"

"All Blacks belong in Slytherin," exclaimed one of the older students; Sirius didn't catch who it was, though he figured he wouldn't recognise the speaker anyway. He knew the students of Slytherin House – all from ancient, pureblood families, they were. But not Gryffindor. No, the House _he_ got stuck in was full of people his family had spent its entire time keeping him from.

"My cousin was in Ravenclaw," hissed Sirius, glaring in the direction of where the voice came from. Just because he couldn't tell _who_ exactly had spoken didn't mean he didn't have a decent idea of where it originated from.

"Well, occasionally there's a decent one of you Blacks to come here," muttered another voice from further down the table, this time too far for Sirius to even have an idea of who had said the words. Words of retaliating anger were on the very tip of his tongue and his fingers were already gripping his wand when another spoke up, and this time, Sirius knew the speaker, as the boy was sitting right next to him.

"You're one to talk, Boxley," said Potter, glaring down the table at a large, brown-haired boy that had to be at least eighteen, if not older. He was twice as big as James Potter, but the new First Year didn't seem to mind that size difference one bit. "If you had half of the insight and intelligence you're claiming now, you would have finished your seventh year last term like you were supposed to."

A roar of laughter sounded down on the other end of the table, issuing from where Boxley and his friends sat. Boxley's face had turned red while his friends seemed to have trouble breathing as their laughter increased. And the laughter didn't just start and end with the group of Seventh Years, but continued down the table, all the way to the new group of First Year Gryffindors.

Sirius had even momentarily forgotten the pain in his head as he watched Boxley, and his body shook with laughter. The last time he remembered laughing so hard was a few months ago, when Regulus had managed to completely destroy Mrs Black's room with a burst of uncontrolled magic – and had ended up smothered under yards and yards of dresses and robes that had hurled out of the wardrobe. Needless to say, his mother hadn't been very happy, but the slight twitch on the usually stern witch had helped to send Sirius into another wave of laughter at the time.

He glanced over at the boy to his left who had started the whole thing with the insult to Boxley, and Sirius saw that Potter was laughing just as hard as everyone else, if not more so. Clutching his sides and gasping for air, he appeared like he was trying to say something to Sirius, but the latter could not make out anything through the hysterical laughter. Either way, Potter's laughter was contagious, and the entire table soon sounded like everyone sitting at it was mad.

Perhaps Gryffindor House wouldn't be as bad as he originally thought.

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_"The best is yet to be."  
--Robert Browning_

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_Author's __Note__: Well, there you have it. Quite a bit lengthier than I had intended in the beginning, but one thing led to another and another, and everything became a lot easier once I decided on a portrayal for Sirius. I didn't want to make him completely rebellious at eleven years old, especially since it doesn't seem likely that he would feel that way when he's never been exposed to other forms of teaching before Hogwarts. At the same time, I don't see him as being a perfect Pureblood prince, either, so I didn't want to go completely in the opposite direction. And such conflict in my mind was the main reason why this fic – which one would think wouldn't be vastly difficult – took around two months to complete! _

_Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and please, don't hesitate to let me know what you think. Does my eleven-year-old Sirius seem believable enough? Does it all work all right? Let me know._

_--ForeverSirius77_


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